


Displaced

by Zairazruari



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Doctor Reader - Freeform, F/M, Families of Choice, Female Reader, Found Family, Gen, Medical Jargon, Modern Girl in Shiganshina, Original Character Death(s), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Reader-Insert, Slow Build, Viral Illness, Virus
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-11
Updated: 2020-04-09
Packaged: 2020-12-20 23:03:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21064643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zairazruari/pseuds/Zairazruari
Summary: Her soul was forced from its proper place and thrown into a strange, Titan-infested, antiquated world. As a result, she was born with a lifetime's worth of memories from her first life as a doctor...and the memory of her death in this one.If there was a higher being out there, Y/N only had two questions: Why was this happening to her and why was the word Paradis so important?





	1. Prologue

_The moment I was born in this world,_   
_I already carried with me thousands of memories_   
_From my first life in another world._

_And a single memory from this one._

The crowd was surging against the barriers, and the police tasked to hold them back seemed just as likely to prevent them as to join them. From where I was kneeling on the wooden stage, raised well above their hands but still within range of the vitriol they spat with abandon, I could see their dark eyes, alight with rage and directed towards me, their object of loathing. A willing and deserving target, a state-mandated apology gift, and an offering on the altar of hard-won peace, wrapped in a neat package. I had no intention of refuting their claims or protesting my innocence because this was a foregone conclusion. I had accepted my sentence calmly because, from the moment I was born in this world, I had always known it would come to this: my neck on the chopping block, stretched out uncomfortably in preparation to meet the sharp edge of an axe.

I had tried to turn away from the crowd so that the sight of their grief and anger would not be the last thing I see in this world, but at the last moment, the executioner rearranged my head and turned it to face them. I thought of closing my eyes, afraid of seeing familiar faces twisted in pain, but now, I couldn't help but search for them.

The rulers of Paradis commanded attention as they stood together on another raised platform, surrounded by royals and officials from other countries. They were lovely as always, despite the grimace on the King's face and the tears on the Queen's cheeks. I wondered why she was crying when she ever claimed to hate me so. The Spider was nowhere to be seen, probably evaluating the events from a well-protected perch instead of deigning to be with the raucous masses. I had expected that but was hoping for a glimpse of that cutting smile one last time. There were many faces I searched for—_my friends, my comrades, my family_—even if I knew they could not be there to see my last moments.

At last, my searching led me to the eyes I had both dreaded seeing and ached to look into one last time: my Lover's and my Child's. My eyes burned as I tried to direct a smile at him, but my effort only served to reopen the cut on my bottom lip. He stood apart from the crowd, cold and still so beautiful in his anger, the swords at his waist an active deterrent to anyone thinking of approaching the criminal's husband even though he held our child in his arms.

I could not tear my gaze away even though I understood that it would be kinder to do so. I had thought myself ready to accept this fate even if I had to hurt my love to protect the world we made, but I could not stop even a single tear from falling. The crowd became louder, jeering at the sight of their enemy's sorrow and rejoicing at the proof that they were able to cause her pain, but I was deaf to their voices.

My world had been reduced to me, him, and our precious baby girl. _Why did he bring her here?_ His mouth was moving, but I could not read his lips. _What was he saying?_ Something caught the light at the corner of his eye. _Were those tears?_ Someone was screaming. _Is that...my voice?_

I had so many more questions, but no more time to find answers or even to ask them. The harsh afternoon light glinted off the edge of the blade as it swung towards me.

_I used to wake up gasping, clawing at my throat,_   
_The sharp pain on my neck fading quickly into nothing_   
_Along with all the faces and names I had known so well_   
_In the world inside that nightmare._

_And when my death began to haunt me less and less,_   
_replaced by memories of Earth, a world I could no longer touch,_   
_I learned more about this world, and I began to ask: **What is Paradis?**_   
_And why is that the only name I'd wake up knowing?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! This introduction will probably be the only chapter written in 1st Person, and it was the 5th chapter to be uploaded. Chapters 1 to 4 were already uploaded before.


	2. Epidemic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It took an epidemic of epic proportions for Y/N to cast aside her trepidation when it came to using the medical knowledge in her head, but once her own parents were infected, the choice had been simple.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Replace Y/N with your desired first name. I recommend the Chrome extension, InteractiveFics.

_All I knew  
This morning when I woke is  
I know something now,  
_ _Know something now   
__I didn't before._

* * *

In addition to a recurring nightmare that predicted her death, Y/N had always carried with her memories of a world vastly different from the one she currently inhabited. In those memories, there were no walls to protect humanity from Titans. There had been no need.

She could remember being a doctor who worked for a non-profit organization that flew around a world without care for borders or allegiances. With her comrades, she had gone wherever they were needed—war zones, impoverished slums, disease outbreak centers, isolated tribal lands—and did what they could to alleviate the suffering of those who needed help. It was a difficult and thankless job, but it had been the only thing she could imagine doing with her life. In the end, continuing that had been her dying wish. As she looked up at the clear blue sky one last time, she had prayed that if there were heaven to look forward to in the afterlife, it'd be a heaven where she would be needed.

If a higher power had heard her wish, then that higher power had a twisted sense of humor.

* * *

Y/N had been an ordinary infant. Quieter and sleepier than most babies, sure, but outwardly average. She grew up healthy and active, despite being plagued by nightmares she refused to talk about. As time went by, she woke up screaming less often and rarely gave her parents, Marcus and Alice, reason to worry. In their farmhouse near the inner side of Shiganshina's inner walls, the three of them lived an uncomplicated, happy, and almost idyllic life.

As a child, Y/N was precocious, always asking questions and displaying an unusual thirst for learning that her parents delighted in. Though this should have meant that she would do well in a school setting, Y/N had chafed against the strictness with which their teachers followed the prescribed lesson plans. She was often punished for asking too many questions or for not getting along with her peers. This happened so often that her parents decided to stop sending Y/N to school and to teach her at home instead. Once they did so, Y/N proved to be like a sponge, absorbing what she was shown almost immediately. She learned so quickly and directed her own studies so independently that the most her parents had to do was supervise her and provide precious books for her to devour.

What she managed to learn in her search for knowledge caused her no small amount of apprehension. It was difficult to reconcile the world she lived in now with the world that lived in her memories. She wasn't even sure if what she had were real memories or a delusion. After all, insane people did not think they were mad, did they?

Insane people also weren't driven by the need to find the meaning of a single name—**_Paradis_****—**to the point of obsession, but that was beside the point.

Her knowledge of medicine, which had been her original life's work and meaning, was hardly applicable to her current situation. Sure, personal hygiene and a nutritious diet seemed to ensure that she would have no problems with her own health, but there was hardly anything to prove that the rest of what she knew was useful. Indecision made her hesitant, and lack of experience stilled her hand completely.

Barely a decade old, Y/N vowed to do what she could for herself and her parents, who were hardly going to suspect their daughter of insanity if she requested more citrus and fish for dinner. But until she felt 100% confident in her knowledge, she would keep it to herself.

* * *

Once the epidemic reached their sleepy little neighborhood, it moved fast. Within one day, five people who were previously healthy were showing signs of infection. Within three days, both Y/N's parents had a fever and a cough.

Those who were sick were asked to head to Shiganshina Hospital, where a team of medical professionals was set aside expressly to tackle this problem. As they packed what little they decided to bring along and headed to the hospital, Y/N noted with terrified eyes the gradual appearance of flat, red spots on the faces of the infected, and the rash's inexorable spread downward to cover the rest of the body. It was a familiar sight, but only because she had seen this exact same disease process on Earth before.

With shaky hands, Y/N brought out her handkerchief and tied it around her face, covering her mouth and nose. She then scrounged around her bag for cloth for her parents as they, in turn, watched at her with indulgent eyes. Privately, Marcus and Alice had often worried about their child's fixation with cleanliness but had decided if it did not hurt anyone, there was no need to stop it. Anyway, since Y/N was born, her peculiarities had not done any harm.

"Mom? Dad? Do you mind if I check something?" Y/N asked quietly, approaching them with clean handkerchiefs in hand.

"Come here, Y/N. What do you need?" Alice inquired, raising a hand to beckon her closer. Despite the cold that she was nursing, Alice was more concerned about the sad, almost sorrowful look on her daughter's face. She shared a worried glance with Marcus before bending down to look Y/N eye to eye.

Y/N stepped forward, hands rising to reach behind her mother's head as she peered solemnly into her mother's bloodshot eyes. With careful fingers softly pressing the area behind Alice's ears, Y/N felt the clusters of enlarged lymph nodes on either side. Her heart sank.

Alice watched as her daughter's face drained of color, leaving her looking ghost-like. The trembling child, usually so self-sufficient and undemonstrative of her affections, leaned her head on her mother's chest and clutched her mother as tightly as she could. Alice widened her eyes at Marcus, trying to communicate her worry without words, as she spoke soothingly to Y/N.

"What is it, my love? What's wrong?"

"I… I'm so sorry. I should have said something. I should have done something."

* * *

_ Measles_. On Earth, that was what they had called the sickness that now afflicted the population of Shiganshina. In medical school, Y/N had learned how measles ravaged cities before the creation of vaccines. In the field, she had seen how communities that turned away from or had no access to vaccines struggled when an outbreak occurred. She knew what caused it and how it was transmitted. She understood how to prevent its spread and how to give supportive treatment until it ran its course.

But because she had not tried her hardest to seek out this world's medical teachings, she didn't know how to make her theoretical knowledge useful. Applying what she knew was beyond her power. Her throat felt painfully tight every time she thought of the cowardly choice she had made when she was younger. Now, she was certain that not using sharing and using her knowledge had been a mistake.

When they arrived in the hospital, Y/N was asked to leave her parents while they were admitted into the quarantine ward. It was a hastily set up tent set away from the main building of the hospital, with folding beds set up for the patients. Nearby, a few smaller tents housing the medical staff and their workspaces made up the rest of the temporary facility dedicated to the epidemic until construction of the more permanent wards was finished. It was the best the town's hospital could do, but it was not enough.

Measles was caused by a virus transmitted by droplets, which were released when an infected person would cough. When airborne, someone could inhale them, or they could land on various surfaces that were then touched by other people. As Y/N walked around the area, she noted that very few people were wearing masks and the few that were often pulled them down to breathe unobstructed or to speak to other people clearly. No one was washing their hands as they moved from place to place. Y/N tightened her makeshift mask as she shivered at the implications.

Suddenly, a heavy hand gripped her shoulder, and a voice came from behind her, sharp with reprimand. "What is a child doing at a place like this?"

Y/N whirled around, looking up at a dark-haired man with a beard and glasses. He was wearing a white coat, which meant that he was a doctor, but his face was twisted in an expression between confusion and…anger? "My name is Y/N! My parents are patients, and they're inside the quarantine tent!" she hurriedly said.

The man seemed to struggle to rearrange his features. "I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me." He let go of Y/N's shoulder, though a slight ache remained as a testament to how tightly he had held her. "I am Dr. Grisha Yeager, one of the doctors in charge of treating your parents."

_ A doctor! A chance! _Y/N slowly raised a hand to her shoulder, tentatively squeezing as if to check for injury. Every move she made telegraphed fear and distrust even as she tried to find a way to bring up what she truly wanted to say_. _"It is…good to meet you, doctor. We will be in your care."

Grisha's eyes followed her movements, and he winced."I must apologize again for my actions. Does your shoulder hurt?"

"Not so much now…" she replied while hurriedly trying to think of what to say to him. A flash behind Grisha caught her eye. She tilted her head to look and caught sight of what seemed like two shadows—one, a long-haired, thin person, standing beside a second, taller man who bore a striking resemblance to Grisha. She blinked, and the shadows were gone.

Grisha looked behind him to check what Y/N was looking at but did not see anything. He turned back to the young girl in front of him, feeling guilty for the burst of irrational anger he had when he saw her. There was no reason behind it, but he had wanted to shake the girl. She did not _belong_. Grisha shook his head. Belong where, though? In the hospital? In Shiganshina? In this world? In this story? If it were true, then she would be a sort of comrade to him, not an enemy. "That's good. Very good. I was heading to the quarantine tent to do my rounds. Would you like to walk with me?"

Y/N decided to take a leap of faith and impulsively blurted out, "I need your help. Please. I need you to listen to me!" Objectively, she could probably figure out how a child was supposed to react in a situation like this, but she had no time to waste on things like that when she had important things to say.

"I am a doctor. I swore to help whoever I could, and I will. I promise to help your paren–"

Y/N shook her head, interrupting the doctor. "That's not it! You _need _to make everyone wear masks. The staff, the patients, everyone in this area! The sickness is…well, it _could be _airborne. Droplets in the air, on things." Everything she wanted to say came out in a rush. "People should wash their hands with soap and wipe down the surfaces around the area with alcohol. You need to stop its spread."

Grisha's forehead furrowed as he considered the young girl's words. She seemed sincere, but her knowledge was not in tune with what was practiced in Shiganshina Hospital…or really, anywhere within the Walls. He was actually about to suggest those very things in the afternoon staff meeting to be held after their rounds, but hearing those ideas—concepts he had learned from a faraway shore—come from a young girl was jarring. "I will remember what you said," he replied cautiously, "if you will tell me how you came to your conclusion."

"I derived these ideas from my own observations, but I have not shared them for fear of being wrong." She mixed lies with the truth, hoping that it would somehow make the doctor listen.

"And why are you sharing them to me now?" he pressed. The girl in front of him _could_ be a budding genius, deriving these ideas independently. There was no real reason to be suspicious of someone so young...but he could not discount his initial disquiet.

"I still don't feel like my ideas are completely right, and I will never feel 100% ready…" She hesitated, wringing her fingers. Grisha waited for her to continue, expression carefully blank. "But if this can, in any way at all, help my parents, then… I can't _not_ say them. I can't stay quiet. Please understand!"

Her disjointed sentences belied an unsettled mind, but her ideas were sound, and her concern appeared genuine. Grisha smiled softly at her, willing her to trust him. "Come, let's find out where they keep the masks. We'll talk afterwards."

* * *

_All I know is a newfound grace  
All my days, I'll know your face  
All I know since yesterday, yeah  
Is everything has changed._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **e·pi·de·mic** /ˌepəˈdemik/ _noun._ an infectious disease that becomes widespread in a region or community and affects a large number of people at the same time.
> 
> What is the difference between _endemic_, _epidemic_, and _pandemic_? An endemic disease has a constant presence in a known location, while an epidemic is actively spreading. Once is has spread to multiple countries and/or continents, it is known as a pandemic.
> 
> * * *
> 
> Thank you for reading! The song quoted at the beginning and end of the chapter is Everything Has Changed by Taylor Swift.


	3. Airborne Precautions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Surprisingly, Grisha takes Y/N's ideas in stride and they begin to work together, but something about him doesn't add up.

_I know I'm not the only one who spent  
_ _So long attempting to be someone else._

* * *

Y/N directed the light into the old woman's mouth and gestured for Grisha to look. From where he was hidden from the patient's view by the angle of Y/N's elbow, the doctor looked at her askance before bending down to peer inside. On the patient's inner cheek, he could see pale dots that resembled grains of salt, surrounded by a reddish area. It was easy enough to notice if you knew what you were looking for. These were the spots Y/N mentioned when they had been discussing the disease's symptoms and progression the night before.

"Are you the only one taking care of your husband?" Grisha inquired as he sat back on his chair. Behind him, Y/N busied herself with wiping down the instruments that had been used to examine the woman.

"Yes. We don't have a child, and our neighbors have their own sick."

"I see," Grisha replied, but he didn't really.

If he had been alone while examining this woman, who came in for a mild cough and colds, he would have let her go with some medicine, not bothering to examine her further. It was only when he made small talk that she had mentioned how difficult it had been to keep their business open while also taking care of her husband, who was now a patient in their quarantine tent. At that point, Y/N, who had been quietly observing the comings and goings from a stool beside Grisha's door, sat up sharply. She then tapped her cheek, covered by a now omnipresent mask, and behind her ear, trying to prompt Grisha into examining the woman further. When Grisha hesitated, Y/N approached, introduced herself as Grisha's student, and completed the examination herself.

What they found together matched Y/N's description of a person with the early stages of the epidemic. The _prodromal phase_, she called it. The period where their symptoms are mild and non-specific, except for the tiny white dots in their buccal mucosa. _That_ was a sure sign.

Where Y/N got her knowledge and certainty from, Grisha wasn't sure. She claimed credit for her incredible ideas without actually saying so, leaving Grisha to grope for an answer by himself. Despite that, everything they had discussed so far had been accurate. It had been a long time since he was able to talk to someone about medicine so freely, and before he knew it, hours had passed. To get as much information as he can from the young girl before she inevitably clammed up, he struggled to postpone the questions he wanted to ask the most: _How does someone so young know these things? Where do you come from? Can I trust you?_

Shaking his head, Grisha pulled himself out of his thoughts. The time for those questions is coming, and soon. But for now, he had to figure out what to do with his new patient. He leaned forward, concerned. "Ma'am, I know it feels like you aren't very sick, but from what we have seen, you are showing symptoms of an early phase of the epidemic."

The elderly woman sighed. "Ah, I should have expected this, but…if I didn't take care of that husband of mine, who would?"

Grisha was relieved that she was easy to talk to. Other patients might've argued against his diagnosis, but this was a sweet old lady. "I understand what you're saying. We'd do our best, but a wife's care is just magic." He smiled grimly before standing up. "With your permission, I would like to admit you to our quarantine tent."

"Maybe if Dr. Yeager asks nicely, you could get the aides to place a new bed beside your husband's." Y/N contributed as she waved goodbye.

As the pair walked out of the door, Y/N watched with shadowed eyes. The knowledge she had was being used to help others, and it made her feel…fulfilled. _Vital_, in both meanings of the word, in a way that her soul wholeheartedly embraced. There was something in environments like this that called to her, even in the memories of her past life. Her colleagues had fondly muttered that she thrived in adversity, and they were right.

But at the same time, Y/N's heart ached. She knew it was not right that she felt at home only amid conflict, where others were suffering, some even dying. She was not sadistic, rejoicing in their pain. She just...needed to be _needed_.

* * *

On the first day of his acquaintance with Y/N, Grisha wasted no time in introducing himself to her parents. Besides mentioning the circumstances in which he met their daughter and apologizing, he also took the time to chat about personal details. Sheepishly, he scratched the back of his head as they watched the nurses begin distributing masks and bottles of alcohol to the patients. "Would it surprise you if I said it was your daughter who suggested that everyone wear masks and wash their hands?"

Alice, who Grisha had found to be quite straight-forward and intense despite her delicate frame, smiled proudly, her sallow face brightening. "Not at all."

"It sounds just like her. She had always been particular with her own cleanliness, as well as the cleanliness of her surroundings." Marcus' furrowed brow smoothened. He had complained of chest pain earlier, but talking about his daughter provided enough distraction from it. Despite his brawny figure, he was the more approachable of the two. A gentle giant, Grisha concluded with a smile.

"I have not seen many children who are the same. She must have been an easy child to care for."

"In a way. Those who could not keep up with her would say otherwise. We've found it to be an excellent barometer to judge the sharpness of a person's mind."

Marcus laughed fondly. "While it could've been phrased better," he teased, "my wife's words are true. That you have interacted with Y/N and found conversation with her to be pleasant is a compliment to you and a relief to us."

Alice's response was a mock sniff followed by unexpectedly bright laughter. Grisha found himself laughing too, despite the curious ache that began to throb in his chest. To think that a family like this—_open and joyful and loving, so different from what his own had been—_was a member of the people he once pitied was a laughable thing indeed.

Suddenly, Marcus began to cough harshly. It took a while for him to stop, and his face had reddened significantly from the strain by the time the coughing fit subsided. Grisha frowned. "Please turn around. I'd like to listen to your breathing."

* * *

There was no way to be entirely sure if the prompt enforcement of contact and droplet precautions Grisha had implemented on Y/N's request had an effect. Still, the number of new patients trickling into the facility was slowly dwindling, amounting to less than half of the projections.

While musing about the logistics of introducing hand hygiene to the general population, Y/N walked past a newer tent, bigger but with fewer patients inside. She tried to peer into the flap as a nurse went in, but failed to see through the multiple layers that comprised the entrance. This was the Intensive Care tent, set up for the patients who needed more care.

"You alright there, Little Doctor?" came a cheerful call from a young man walking towards the ICU tent. His uniform marked him as a senior nurse if the dark circles under his eyes and his tray of medical equipment weren't enough clues.

The staff had begun to call Y/N Little Doctor, seeing how she had appointed herself as Grisha's assistant. The only time she would not be seen puttering about the hospital was when she visited her parents. They had been transferred from the quarantine tent to Intensive Care after their condition deteriorated faster than expected. Y/N had not been able to spend a decent amount of time with them since then. Visiting hours were only for a short period in the afternoon, and the rest of the time, only senior staff were allowed inside.

Y/N peered at the approaching nurse's tray, noting a thermometer among the other equipment. "I'm fine! Thanks for asking. Are you heading inside?"

"Yeah, I'm due to check temperatures and stuff in a while, and you know how long we need to take while washing our hands and equipment now."

"I noticed. The soapmaker must be a happy man."

"He must be the one behind all of this then," the nurse laughed, stopping beside the entryway to finish his chat with Y/N.

"We should keep an eye on him." Y/N agreed wryly, then her expression turned serious. "When you get to my parents, could you…say hello for me? Tell them I miss them and that I'm doing my best out here?"

The nurse tried to keep his facial expression in control despite the sadness creeping in his chest. Marcus and Alice had been slipping in and out of consciousness for a whole day, and that was after both of them developed a horrible hacking cough. They were two of the most severe cases in the ICU, and he didn't want to get Y/N's hopes up. Still, he did what he could. "I'll give them your message, Little Doctor. I'm sure they'd feel better hearing from you."

Y/N thanked him, and they went their separate ways. She was starting to get familiar with the staff working here. Her small figure trailing behind Grisha (when he was free) or the other doctors and nurses was fast becoming a common sight. There weren't many who could say no to a pair of helping hands, especially when they were attached to a cute face. Most found a small errand for her to do—_find this person, bring me this, take this there—_which she always completed promptly. Others whiled away their downtime talking to her, finding the young girl's enthusiasm for the healing trade amusing. They taught her simple herb lore, showed her the content's of a traveling doctor's kit, and explained the various tinctures and tisanes that lined the pantry walls.

But just as important as medical knowledge were the tidbits of information she picked up little by little, from throwaway phrases and tiny incongruences, that when put together formed a surprising picture.

Grisha had a secret of his own.

* * *

The daily afternoon staff meeting, recently implemented especially to tackle the epidemic, was becoming more and more tedious. People used to be fired up, ready to tackle the problem head-on, but as time progressed, excitement slowly drained out of the room, leaving few willing to pay attention and work on an increasingly hopeless problem. Most either wanted to eat their lunch (which was usually delayed by various tasks that kept cropping up when one worked in a hospital) or, if they were lucky and already had lunch, take a nap, lulled to quiescence by the droning voices of various seniors doctors and nurses.

The meeting that just ended had been more of the same, except for the last half hour. It was then that Grisha had volunteered the results of his conversations with Y/N (claiming credit for her contribution left a bad taste in his mouth, but she was right in that it gave their findings more credibility) and a morning spent examining various patient relatives. It had been a tough 30 minutes spent convincing jaded doctors and nurses to listen to a younger colleague, even one who was slowly building a reputation as a genius. Still, it was worth it to see the spark rekindled in their eyes._ Progress, finally_, they thought.

Squinting at the afternoon sunlight after spending a considerable amount of time in a dim tent, Grisha left the meeting with a lighter step. New diagnostic criteria, a way to find early cases, and a rough understanding of disease progression, would not seem like much to a layperson. Still, it was already more than they had before. Besides that, he also had a moment of inspiration for a possible cure—not that he was going to tell that to a room full of doctors without actual proof.

Before heading back to his office, Grisha headed to the Main Hospital Building and made a beeline for the cavernous Records Section in the basement. In there, he pulled up every single file related to Y/N, her parents, and their family. If what they claimed was true and Marcus' family had hailed from Shiganshina for as long as they could remember, then all the records of each birth and death should be here. If they were lying, where could they possibly be from? Marley? The Mid-East?

As the stack of patient files grew, Grisha started to be convinced that they were indeed from within the Walls. While Alice's record was thinner, she was noted to have moved from within the inner walls. Her last name was not provided, but the information about her medical history and Y/N's birth was enough to assuage Grisha's doubts.

Marcus' file was substantial and much more helpful, leading to records that belonged to his predecessors. _Michel. Hans. Another Michel. Anders. Marcus._ Five generations forming an unbroken line that led straight to Y/N, beginning from when records started to be kept in Shiganshina Hospital until the present. All the files appeared authentic—even compared to others that he had gotten from random shelves and even the ones that were yellowed and decades old.

Grisha rubbed his temples as he began to feel the beginnings of a migraine throbbing behind his eyes. What were the chances of finding a mysterious genius right when he was supposed to be concentrating on finding a cure for an epidemic?

* * *

It was during the dinner rush when Grisha finally stepped into the pub. From across the room, Y/N eyed Grisha with some relief. This was where most of the hospital staff had their meals, so while she expected to see him here, she had not known when he would arrive. She wanted to talk to him immediately, but her shift was not yet over, and she intended to do her work well.

This was a family-owned pub, but unlike on Earth, where opening a restaurant didn't necessarily mean you worked in it, the owners and their daughter helped out inside. Y/N had met Carla, the owner's lovely daughter and everyone's favorite pub maid, after her parents were admitted in the hospital. She had been sitting alone, pushing her food around with a spoon and wondering how she was supposed to pay for food when the coins she had been given finally ran out, when a pretty dark-haired waitress sat beside her and started to talk to her. It was after lunch; most of the customers had already left, so there wasn't much work left to do. Carla had been kind as she listened to Y/N's plight. In the end, she raised Y/N's mood with a few well-placed sassy remarks and offered her some work in exchange for free meals. Y/N started that very night.

As she was working, she noticed that a man with short brown hair now accompanied Grisha. He was in a military uniform with the logo of the Scouts prominently displayed at his back. From the way they interacted, it appeared like they were old friends. It wouldn't do to approach the doctor about her suspicions now, so she continued her work, bringing out food and drinks to those who ordered. If she could just find a way to bait him subtly...

* * *

Grisha, on the other hand, was once again accosted by his first and only friend within the Walls, Keith Shadis. He rubbed his eyes as he blearily looked at Keith and tried to follow what he was saying. Something about evasion tactics and calculating angles? It didn't make much sense to him, but it was the end of a long day, and he was tired. He could swear that the lack of coffee within the Walls was a punishment straight from the gods.

"Grisha? Hey! Are you even listening?" Keith asked, waving a scarred hand in front of his friend's unfocused eyes. He had seen Grisha's dark circles from across the room but had not expected the doctor to be this worn out.

"I'm sorry, Keith. What you're saying is interesting, and I really want to hear it, but I'm just…" Grisha trailed off.

"Exhausted? Overworked? They're running you ragged in there, and you're being an idiot." Concern made Keith's tone sharper than intended, but Grisha understood what was left unsaid.

"It's not usually like this, but...the epidemic isn't going to cure itself, you know?"

"Yeah, it won't, but it's not going to be cured at all if the people who are supposed to solve the problem are dead!" Keith's voice was getting louder, and they were attracting more than a few stares.

They were interrupted by the sound of bowls being set on the table and the fragrance of spicy fish stew. A flagon of ale was placed in front of Keith, while a mug of strong black tea was pushed towards Grisha. Y/N smiled perfunctorily at the both of them. "Hello! Carla said you'd want this."

"And Carla was right!" Keith said, taking a long drink from his flagon before letting out a satisfied exhale and tucking into his bowl. "Ah, that hits the spot."

"Thanks, Y/N." Grisha smiled at her, raised his head to look for Carla, and gave a wave in her direction. "She's a regular old mind reader. Tea is just perfect right now."

Y/N shrugged, putting on an unaffected air as she baited Grisha. "Tea's alright, but it's got nothing on coffee."

The words didn't register immediately on both men's minds, giving Y/N a chance to walk away. It was only after Grisha was sufficiently caffeinated and fed that he realized just what Y/N had said. His spoon slipped past shaking fingers, dropping on the table with an audible clang.

Keith shook his bowed head as he spooned the last drops of stew into his mouth. "You're more tired than I thought. You should rest." He raised his head and saw that the chair in front of him was empty. "Hey, Grisha!" He stood up and looked around, but was unable to spot his friend. "Who's going to pay for this?!"

* * *

_My family is dysfunctional_   
_But we have a good time killing each other._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **air·borne pre·cau·tions** _noun._ measures taken to protect against airborne transmission of infectious agents.
> 
> Airborne precautions, colloquially called "airborne prec" are safeguards applied to patients who are known or suspected to be infected with microorganisms that can be transmitted through the air. These usually comprise of: a mask on the patient, an isolation room built to specific guidelines, restricting contact with all but the most essential personnel, and personal protective equipment worn by healthcare workers.
> 
> Diseases that require this include measles, varicella (chickenpox), tuberculosis, and SARS.
> 
> * * *
> 
> Thank you for reading! The song quoted at the beginning and end of the chapter is Secrets by Mary Lambert.


	4. Vaccine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Questions are asked, and something like the truth is exchanged.

_Come lay your head down._   
_I don't have to know what you did before._   
_Come lay your head down._   
_Every little thing that you're looking for._   
_Oh, the war you started._   
_Oh, the lines are forming._

* * *

The sun was setting, casting corners into shadow, when Grisha finally spotted Y/N standing across the street from the pub, looking down towards the flowing river. It made for a lonely picture, and somehow, he understood that when Y/N's words during dinner did not prompt an immediate reaction from him, she thought it was because he did not understand what she was saying. He hesitated with his approach, unexpected pity warring with righteous suspicion, before giving in to the latter and walking briskly towards her. At the sound of his footsteps, Y/N looked up with an expression of hope, which quickly melted away when he grabbed her arm, urgency making his grip tight much like the first time they met. "Why do you know what coffee is?"

The hope that had flickered in her eyes died down. Her gaze turned assessing and mildly reproachful. "Why do _you_?"

Realization dawned in his eyes and he let go abruptly, breaking eye contact. "You were baiting me." Panic was slowly rising in his blood. He had not thought this confrontation through. Was she from Marley? Was she here to ruin his plans? Will he be able to get rid of her somehow?

"Yes, I was. Your medical knowledge is far more advanced than any person here," Y/N replied carefully, aware that Grisha wasn't reacting positively like she had expected.

"Ah. I slipped, didn't I?" He had just decided that this girl could be trusted, and here she was, proving him wrong! Grisha tried to be calm, tried to stall as he calculated the feasibility of getting away with turning into a Titan in the middle of a residential area. He had to do better than this. "I haven't been able to speak frankly about medicine…or well, _anything_, with anyone, until we started talking."

Y/N nodded, thoughtful. "It was…many small, inconsistent clues, adding up. You didn't give away much, and if I didn't know better, I would not have seen it."

"But you did know better. How did you get that knowledge?" He had to keep her talking while he tried to figure out how to salvage the tatters of his plan. He would have to move somewhere else. He still had so much to do!

Y/N was quiet for some time, unaware of Grisha's mental turmoil. She had mentally practiced how to explain her situation to another person, in case the opportunity arose, but right now, the words were not flowing smoothly. "For as long as I could remember, I've had memories of a different world," she started hesitantly. "A world without Titans and Walls. A place with technology beyond anything we see here. A life I lived as a doctor. When I ended up here—when I was _born_ here—the knowledge came with me. That's why I know about things I probably shouldn't."

Grisha's mind stuttered to a halt. "_Oh_." What?

They stood silently for some time—Y/N waiting, Grisha struggling, both watching the waves on the river lap against the raised stone on the riverbanks until the sky was dark enough to make it difficult to see the other shore without light. It took that long for Grisha to recalibrate his thoughts, and when he spoke, his words were more careful, truths vague enough to allow Y/N her own conclusions. He was unwilling to tell her the complete truth—there was too much at stake—but he could give her something. "I too remember a place different from this world, but unlike yours, we had a wall. It was smaller than this, and its purpose was not to protect us from Titans. I was a doctor there as well."

Y/N's posture relaxed minutely. "What are the chances of finding someone going through the same thing? Fate is a funny thing." She stroked her chin—a familiar gesture turned strange when done by a small child—before perking up. "Dr. Yeager? Tell me, what are the similarities between Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram?"

"What are those? I have no idea what those words mean are, let alone how those could be similar. Is this a test?" He was warming up to the conversation. "Do the words Marley or coordinate mean anything to you?"

"A name for a dog in a movie? And a term used when looking at maps? Did I get it right?"

"Not even close. What's a _moo-vee_ anyway?" A thin smile appeared on his face as he offered a plausible explanation that would hopefully stall any suspicion from Y/N. "I assume this would mean...my world is different from the one you remember?"

"Your world had coffee, though. There are similarities."

Grisha groaned at the reminder. "I miss coffee. A world with coffee is a world better than this."

"I don't know. If you ignore being trapped in a triple-layered cage and the messy death waiting outside the walls, this world isn't so bad."

Grisha's expression softened at her attempt at humor before he started speaking once more. "Look, Y/N. Sometimes, for me, there are things too difficult to relive, too difficult to talk about because it makes those things…real." The words were stilted, the calculation behind them well-hidden behind an appeal for compassion. "I hope you understand that I am unable to share everything with you. I can't."

"We don't have to share anything we don't want to. I don't have to know everything you did before." The grave expression she wore was strange on her young face. "I won't force you, Dr. Yeager. This will be our secret."

His face softened. "Call me Grisha, Y/N. And thank you." He grinned at her. "But you know, Shiganshina is lucky. Between the two of us, I'm pretty sure we can come up with something that will cure this blasted epidemic."

* * *

When their conversation ended, Y/N felt weary, and that tiredness was writ large in her eyes as watched Grisha walk away. What she took away from that conversation was not what she expected, not what she _wanted_, but it was more than what she had before. To find someone who was experiencing even the smallest bit of what she was going through was a miracle too long in the making.

The next day, Y/N headed to Grisha's real office and not the out-patient clinic they had been manning the day before. She had been invited there to there to discuss their progress with the epidemic. When she arrived, Grisha was already hard at work, wending his way through a maze of beakers, boiling liquid, and burners. Her jaw dropped as she watched what was happening, amazed by the intricacy and the scale of what was before her. Modern medicine, as she had practiced it, had nothing like this. They stood like that—focused magician and rapt audience—for a few minutes until Grisha finally noticed that his guest had arrived.

"Ah, sorry. How long have you been waiting?" He ran a hand through his hair, pushing it away from his eyes.

"Not that long. What are you doing? You should tie your hair back, by the way."

Grisha smiled. Trust Y/N to focus on that before anything else. He walked around the room, looking for a leather tie, as he explained what he was working on. "Some of the people I've interviewed mentioned getting sick with a similar, though milder, form of the epidemic before. They got better and thought nothing of it. They have been exposed to the epidemic here before we started with the masks and handwashing, but none in that group are sick or even showing the mildest of symptoms. I've been thinking: maybe they have something that protects them from the disease. If I manage to isolate it, that could form the basis of the cure!" He raised his head as he tied his hair in a low ponytail, finally seeing Y/N's incredulous expression. "Why? Was there anything wrong with what I said?"

"No, nothing! I—well, you're making a vaccine?"

"Come again?"

"The fuck. You're making a vaccine, and you don't even know what it is."

* * *

Before their confrontation, Grisha and Y/N had worked together pretty well. Now that they were free to talk about medicine as much as they wanted, their productivity grew in leaps and bounds. The theories and facts that they shared with each other were surprisingly different, and it wasn't long before they realized that current technology had a lot of catching up to do before Y/N's knowledge could be applied fully. Still, her ideas flowed more confidently now that there was a hand ready to put them to use.

On the other hand, Grisha's knowledge was surprisingly practical, in that he worked with more biochemistry and pharmacology than Y/N ever did. He was used to looking for a solution or a cure by himself, instead of relying on centuries of groundwork laid by earlier scientists. On Earth, he would have been a valuable researcher, Y/N thought. His experimentation, helped along by Y/N's memories of vaccines and antibodies, was coming along better than expected.

As they worked together on a cure, they also spoke of symptomatic treatment. Y/N believed that IV hydration would increase people's chances of survival, but Grisha argued that the logistics of creating a flexible cannula and the IV fluids that Y/N was bringing up would take precious focus away from their cure. Y/N settled with recreating the recipe for oral rehydration salts instead.

At one point, Grisha brought up creating a medicine for the fever. An _antipyretic_, Y/N called it, eager to teach him the medical jargon that she had used in her previous life. He spoke about basing it on willow bark, which was commonly used in teas for pain and fevers, but in a concentrated form. As he was talking, Y/N's brow furrowed. "Willow bark. Salicylic acid. Aspirin," she muttered mostly to herself.

"Do you remember anything useful?"

"Yeah, don't use willow bark." At Grisha's confused glance, she expounded. "In my world, treatment of measles with aspirin, a drug based off of willow bark, has been known to cause Reye syndrome in children. It's a rapidly progressive disease that can cause brain damage and death."

"Alright, we don't want brain damage and death." Grisha grinned at her. "You know, your knowledge is cutting down the time I need for experimentation and the number of errors I could be making. It's like cheating."

"We don't know if our knowledge is perfectly applicable here. In my world, we had to settle for preventing measles, not curing it."

"I'll take our chances. Besides, before I…left my world," Grisha said, temporarily trailing off before shaking his head and continuing. "I think I remember reading about the discovery of a new painkiller–wait, sorry, _analgesic_–that had antipyretic properties as well. They called it paracetamol."

"Oh wow, I know that one. I think it'll work! Do you remember how to make it?"

* * *

To say that Grisha trusted Y/N by now would be a lie. His mission was too critical for him to go around trusting people the way Y/N seemed intent on trusting him. A little paranoia would not hurt, he told himself as he set up a plan to discover if Y/N had any Titan powers. This was the last test, and after this, the quiet, suspicious voice in his head promised that it will finally stop.

Carefully, he set his knife down on the table with the handle turned to the wrong side, the newly sharpened blade glinting wickedly beside the rest of the handles. This was not how his instruments were usually arranged, and he knew that Y/N was familiar enough with his workspace to take it for granted. Unfortunately, she was busy writing down what she could remember from her years in medical school, lost in a futile effort to recreate her textbooks, and she was not paying attention.

After making sure that she did not notice what he had done, he moved to the other side of the room, pretending to be engrossed with an experiment, and called out. "Y/N, could you pass me a knife."

As he had predicted, she didn't even look up from her notebook when she stretched her left hand out to grab what she thought was the knife handle. It was the blade. "Oh my god, what the fuck!" she yelped, looking at the bleeding cut on her palm.

Grisha tensed, waiting for a flash of light to announce the appearance of a Titan or the telltale hiss of steam as a Titan shifter's wound knit itself back together. When neither happened, he relaxed, feeling like a weight was lifted off his shoulders, and hurried over to Y/N's side with a clean cloth. "Oh, this is my fault! I'm sorry, I didn't realize I left it like that!"

"It was my fault. I should have looked." Y/N waved off his apologies, but didn't stop him from fussing over her cut and dressing it properly. Grisha was acting weird, but she wasn't about to alienate her only real friend here.

* * *

A few patients were being moved from the quarantine tent to newly constructed stone buildings built behind the hospital. Grisha was currently helping the patients settle in after being booted out of his own office by Y/N, who noticed him almost falling asleep in a bowl of unknown chemicals. She had told him to get some fresh air, though he was roped into helping out here before he could figure out how to get fresh air through his omnipresent mask.

He was just about to finish checking on everyone when the door flew open with a bang. Standing on the threshold was Keith, jittery and nervous, holding a weak Carla in his arms. Grisha immediately moved towards them, his heart thumping like a drum in his chest, as Keith exclaimed, "Grisha! Carla caught the sickness going around. Can you help her?!"

Grisha checked the room for a free bed before nodding decisively. "Put her in the rear bed, Keith. And will someone please get these two some masks!" A nurse outside the building ran off to fulfill his request.

Grisha turned around to ready his equipment for a new patient, but Carla caught his sleeve before he could take more than one step from them. "Dr. Yeager, my parents…have it too." Her voice was weak and shaky, and at that moment, he wanted nothing more than to reassure her.

He thought of pulling down his mask to show Carla his smile, but he knew that Y/N would have his hide if he even tried. Instead, he settled for exaggerating the crinkles around his eyes in a smile that he hoped conveyed confidence and laying his hand on her arm. "Don't worry. I'll help everyone!"

* * *

_Call me the doctor._   
_Make me the doctor._   
_Follow the lights down,_   
_And I'll be the one._   
_Operate._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **vac·cine** /vakˈsēn/ _noun._ a substance used to stimulate the body's immune system to protect against one or several diseases.
> 
> Vaccines are usually prepared from an inactive (and therefore, safe) part of the causative agent of a disease, its products, or a synthetic substitute. Simply put, it's a small piece of the bacteria/virus/microorganism that doesn't belong to the part that causes negative effects. Immune cells learn to recognize that part and are better able to target the whole microorganism, if ever they encounter it.
> 
> This is a pro-vaccination fic.
> 
> * * *
> 
> We end with our first glimpse of canon. Thank you for reading! I would enjoy getting feedback about what has been written so far.
> 
> The song quoted, with some changes, is Operate by ASTR.


	5. Resuscitation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Y/N may have decided to use her knowledge to help out, but not everything is smooth sailing, even with the best intentions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you received a notification about a new update on the 11th of December, the new chapter is Chapter 1: Prologue, not this one.

_When you try your best, but you don't succeed._   
_When you get what you want but not what you need._

* * *

It surprised absolutely no one when Grisha announced that he had taken Y/N as his apprentice. What did surprise people was how much work he trusted her to do alone, right off the bat. Grisha allowed the young girl to take over interviewing new patients during his shift in the out-patient clinic, as well as checking on and writing notes about the patients in the wards. Rumors began to spread of a genius being trained by another genius, and both of them said nothing to contradict the stories. It suited their purpose quite well.

Y/N had written down everything she could remember about measles and then some, and she found that she could not help Grisha with the practical part of their problem. Instead of getting in his way, she volunteered to help lessen his workload and free up Grisha's time & focus as he single-mindedly worked on curing the epidemic.

However, not everyone was pleased with what was happening. Alongside the rumors of Y/N's budding genius were angry whispers about how unfair it was that she was chosen as Grisha's apprentice when others were more deserving and already had training and extensive education. Some of the staff believed that teaching Y/N medicine was cute and all, but letting her participate was too much. To appease those who did not think Y/N competent enough to be given so much responsibility, it was decided that another doctor would take over the clinic, while the Little Doctor was to give her notes to a staff member who will then check them before submitting it to Grisha.

Without her parents' love & support and Grisha's presence & trust to serve as her defense, Y/N floundered, still wanting to help out but confronted by condescension and distrust. She felt it even more acutely as she dropped off the day's notes at the nurses' station.

"Run along and play now, Little Doctor," said the nurse at the counter, taking one look at the papers Y/N gave and dropping them in front of a doctor who paged through them idly. The nickname, which sounded like an endearment before, now felt like an insult. Y/N opened her mouth to explain parts of her notes that may be too advanced for this world, but the nurse cut her off with a fond but condescending smile. "We're busy at the moment, and we don't have time to play with you. Don't worry. I'll take care of this for you."

Y/N bristled at the dismissal but remained silent. They were good at pretending to listen without actually paying attention, and if she were a child, she might have been satisfied by it. With her temper in check, she settled for rolling her eyes as she walked away, confident in the quality of what she wrote and fully expecting that anyone who read the notes would come to appreciate it as well. Her hard work will speak for itself.

* * *

Back at the nurses' station, the nurse laughed. "What a darling! She tries so hard."

"She doesn't try hard enough," the doctor replied in disgust. "You see a darling, but I see a jumped-up peasant child chosen as the pet project of one of our genius doctors. She should've stayed in her farm."

"You're being unnecessarily mean, you know?"

"Grisha-sensei's time is being unnecessarily wasted."

"That little girl will grow up to be an amazing doctor, wait and see!" The nurse raised an eyebrow at the doctor who had finished going through Y/N's notes and was now gathering them messily. "Are they any good? If not, be a dear and get rid of those somewhere our Little Doctor won't see it, please?"

The doctor sighed heavily. "I'll take care of it."

* * *

The fact that Carla and her parents were admitted in the hospital right before Grisha's mad dash for a cure was no coincidence. Anyone with eyes could see that Grisha and Carla had been dancing around their feelings for each other for the longest time, and bets were being placed regarding when poor Keith Shadis, who was obviously in love with the pretty barmaid as well, would notice.

Y/N thought herself pretty firmly in Team Grisha, but even she could see the deep devotion Keith had for Carla. She didn't know what excuse he gave his superiors, but the Scout suddenly became an everyday fixture in the hospital, much like Y/N herself. He made himself useful, and no one said no to the free labor, but it was apparent that he was simply looking for a way to remain near Carla. Hannes, an older man from the Garrison whose wife was admitted in the bed across Carla's, took Keith under his wing and helped him stay afloat when his despair and worry threatened to overwhelm him.

It was during a lull in the activity in the hospital when Y/N saw Keith wearing a line in the grass beside the building Carla was in with all his pacing. She was on her way to hang out with other children her age, having decided to give in to the nurses' insistence. They were adamant that interacting with the kids was the best use of her time right now, despite her protests that she never really got along well with people around her age. She spared a glance for the clearing underneath a huge maple tree where the children gathered and played games, before walking away and stopping in front of Keith.

"Hello, Shadis-san. How are you holding up?" she said, stopping a respectful distance away from the jittery Scout.

Keith turned to her, his feet stopping mid-step as he registered her presence. "Oh, it's you, Little Doctor." He smiled at her, the barest glimpse of mania visible in the way his eyes were too wide to be comfortable. "I'm fine, I'm fine. Just working off excess energy."

"I understand how that feels. My parents are still admitted too, and I have nothing to do." She looked at her hands as she spoke. "I much prefer having something to do. It takes my mind off things."

Keith nodded. "Same here. It feels like I have to be doing something. I can't fix this goddamn sickness, but I should be able to do something." He turned his head to look at Y/N closer and winced. "Excuse my cursing. Don't repeat that to anyone."

"I've heard–" _and said_ "-much worse," she said. "I was planning on taking a walk around the area, maybe check if the nurses or the kitchen staff need help. Wanna go with me?"

"Yeah, I guess that'd be good. Productive."

They started walking towards the central cluster of buildings, meandering slowly and relishing the luxury of not having to rush, and Keith took his time studying the young girl in front of him. He saw how much she was trying to be a good helper in the hospital, and more than once, he was surprisingly impressed with the knowledge she displayed. Calling her a budding genius was putting it lightly. Not everyone was capable of seeing how special she was, as evidenced by the way she was treated by some of the staff. Idiots. Keith knew better. He knew _special _when he saw it.

"You're more mature than I thought you would be. Guess that's why Grisha chose you as his apprentice," he told her, uncomfortable with prolonged silence.

"I've done a lot of growing up these past few days."

"I'm not surprised." He did not offer any words of pity, feeling like everyone in this place already got enough of that. He entertained the idea that he understood Y/N was going through, even if he was a middle-aged soldier, and she a young apprentice. There had been moments in his life when he would look at people in power, people above him, and thought, _'I could do so much better.' _As someone who was also blessed with above-average capabilities, Y/N must have had a lot of moments like that too, and others' pity was never a welcome thing.

As he expected, Y/N appeared grateful. "It would take a lot of surprise you, I think. You're a Scout."

"Ha, damn right I am!"

With that declaration, Keith lost himself in a rambling, expansive monologue about the Scouts and their goals. It was his favorite topic, and it didn't take much to set him off. It was only after he had spoken about his last two expeditions outside the walls and said goodbye to Y/N in front of the ICU tent did he realize that she had been diverting his attention from his worried moping. With a fond look behind him, Keith smiled. '_She's a good kid.'_

* * *

For all intents and purposes, Marcus and Alice looked like they were just sleeping, but Y/N knew better. She had seen the doctors' notes and knew that her parents' conditions were dire. Still, as Y/N brushed Alice's red hair back and wiped her feverish forehead with a damp towel, she ignored what her medical knowledge was telling her and indulged in wishful thinking.

_ 'They are going to get better. I'm going to go home with my parents. No more complaining when Dad wakes me up early to help in the farm or when Mom nags me to help hang the laundry. I'm going to count how much money I saved up under the loose floorboard and buy them a cut of the best meat possible. I'm going to cook it in real butter and rosemary and thyme and garlic, and we're going to have dinner, and Dad will laugh when I ask to try the beer, and Mom will tell him to give me a taste a-and…' _

Y/N suddenly realized that she was crying. Before tears could fall off her cheeks and splash onto her mother, she brushed them away angrily. She picked up a new cloth and moved to Marcus' bed, wiping away his sweat and wishing she was taking away the virus with it. Blue-eyed, dark-haired, muscled Marcus looked like he stepped out of an episode of _Vikings_, and it made her angry to see such a strong person laid low by a microscopic virus.

With Grisha working on the cure, there was no one to work on making antipyretics, and Y/N had no idea where to begin. As such, tepid sponge baths were the most she could do to help. Usually, the nurses took over this job, but she pleaded with them to let her do it during visiting hours. When she had promised to keep it a secret, they had been only too happy to foist off further ICU exposure to a willing pair of hands.

It was sheer luck that led her to someone she could trust and someone willing to guide her. If not for Grisha, she would be deep in the pits of despair right now, trying her best to make things better without knowing how to use the tools available. After all of this—_after we go home_—Y/N was planning on convincing her parents to allow her to continue being Grisha's apprentice. Being a doctor was a good profession, right?

Looking at her father's sleeping face, she noted in relief that he did not look like he was in pain. Still, she missed his gruff voice and his horrible jokes. She hadn't been one for poetic thoughts, but with her parents unconscious, she often thought that it had been far too long since she saw her mother's sharp green eyes and her father's sparkling gaze. "Come back, Dad. Wake up," she whispered. With a sad smile, she began to [sing softly, recalling lyrics from her old world that fit what she wanted to tell her parents](https://open.spotify.com/track/7LVHVU3tWfcxj5aiPFEW4Q?si=Vnp_7zejSHCrm5XVGbbBqA) and wishing she could hold both her parents' hands at the same time.

_Lights will guide you home,_   
_ And ignite your bones,_   
_And I will try to fix you._

* * *

With the Shiganshina Hospital's favorite pub closed because the owners were sick, the staff and the regulars had taken to eating together in the hospital cafeteria. It closed earlier than most pubs, and the food was not as good, but it was passable.

During meals, Y/N chose to sit at a table with adults, having decided that she wasn't going to stay at the children's table if she could help it. No one would take her seriously then. If she had to emphasize that she was more mature than her age to get people to listen to her (and have…not _intelligent,_ but _not childish_ conversations), then it was a small price to pay. "How did you know Carla-san was sick?" Y/N idly asked Keith after she finished her vegetable soup.

Keith took a bite of his bread and indulged her curiosity. "I was on the way to the headquarters when I decided to drop by Carla's to see if they needed anything from the market. It was on the way…kinda." He grinned sheepishly. It wasn't. "From the outside, I could see that the lights were unlit. Everything was quiet. I knocked about three times, but there was no answer. I figured they were out of the house, so I was about to leave when the door opened."

Across Keith, Y/N was listening intently, and to his right, Hannes was leaning in, his sleeve almost falling into his soup as he gave Keith all his attention.

"Carla opened the door, but she looked pale and weak. She was leaning against the doorframe, and when I had her lean on me, her skin was burning. It was then that I carried her and brought her here."

"Oh, so you didn't check her parents were sick then?" Hannes questioned innocently, though, from Keith's face, it was evident that the question embarrassed him. Y/N resisted the urge to smile.

"I was worried! And she could barely talk then!" he all but growled. "I'd like to see what you'd do in that situation if it were your wife."

Hannes' mood lowered considerably. He turned back to his meal, hiding his face from Y/N and Keith. "I already know what I would do. It already happened."

Just then, in the middle of the awkward conversation, the cafeteria doors were thrown open with a bang, and a nurse burst inside the room, making a beeline for a table that held some senior doctors. From where she sat, Y/N could hear the words "pulseless" and "unresponsive." For a moment, she had been glad for the distraction from Hannes and Keith's gaffes, but her chest twisted excruciatingly even before she heard the name Marcus leave the nurse's mouth.

Immediately, she was up and running out of the room, running towards the ICU tent, running to her father. Her desperate sprint gave her a headstart, Keith was running right behind her, the earlier moment with Hannes' already forgotten.

By the time Y/N arrived in the ICU tent, a small crowd had already formed at Marcus' bedside, silent and grieving. "What happened? Let me pass!" she cried as she elbowed her way to feel for her father's pulse. _Nothing. _"Why aren't you doing anything?" With an angry snarl, she clambered on top of the bed, assuming the proper position for CPR and began pumping.

"Hey! Hey! What do you think you're doing?" Someone was shouting at her, but she didn't care. She wasn't paying attention. There was _no time_. "Someone call this man's relative!"

Suddenly, she was bodily hauled off the bed. "_I_ am this man's relative," she gritted out through clenched teeth, kicking and struggling to break free from the arms that held her in place like a vice. "Let go of me! I know what to do! Dad needs CPR!" Her kick caught the side of a curious bystander with surprising force, and he stumbled, cursing. The crowd moved further away from her while the arms that held her only tightened in response. She cried out once more, tears streaming down her cheeks. "Please!" She lunged forward, trying to move closer to the still body of her father. "Please, let me save him! Please. I'm _begging _you."

* * *

A hush fell on the crowd as the senior doctor on duty walked forward, taking his time. For him, there was no rush. The patient's heart wasn't pumping blood anymore, and only a miracle could reverse that. He glanced fleetingly at the hysterical, almost rabid, girl being restrained nearby and dismissed her as unworthy of his attention. He was called here from his dinner to do his job – check for a heartbeat one last time and declare the time of death – and only his job. Counseling a grieving relative was not part of that. With a sure hand, he felt for the carotid pulses, then used his tube stethoscope to listen to the patient's chest. He found no signs of life. 

"Time of death, ten o'clock," he said dispassionately. He was well aware that he looked cold, but death was a reality of life, and if he allowed every single death to affect him, he would hardly be able to function.

The aides began the process of preparing the body for transfer to the morgue. They stepped gingerly around Y/N, who was now just staring blankly in front of her. "She's too young," they whispered. "Too young to be exposed to things like this." The person who had been holding her back moved away, leaving her sitting on the floor. There was no longer any need for restraint. Y/N sat so still, she almost looked like a statue. The only thing that showed she was a living thing was the seemingly endless waterfall of tears streaming down her face and the small movements of her lips.

Keith crouched in front of her, unsure of what to say to the child. Her behavior reminded him too much of the shell-shocked newbies who watched their friends die on their first expedition. It was a horrible experience and not something he would wish on anyone, especially this kind young girl. He leaned forward to hear what she was saying, but the moment her mantra-like words registered, he froze.

"Let me save him," Y/N whispered brokenly. "I can still do it. _Please. Let me save my dad._"

* * *

_When the tears come streaming down your face_   
_'Cause you lose something you can't replace._   
_When you love someone but it goes to waste._   
_Could it be worse?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **re·sus·ci·ta·tion** /rəˌsəsəˈtāSH(ə)n/ _noun._ the action or process of reviving someone from unconsciousness or apparent death.
> 
> Cardiopulmonary resuscitation is comprised of chest compressions and artificial breathing done for a pulseless person, whether it's due to the lack of movement of the heart or ineffective, uncoordinated movement that is insufficient to propel blood through the body. Using pressure, the ribcage is compressed in order to raise intrathoracic pressure enough to push blood out of the heart and along the blood vessels. While in fiction (as in this story) it is commonly done to revive a person, it's main purpose is actually to preserve brain function until further measures can be done to restore spontaneous blood circulation and breathing.
> 
> I have this headcanon that Grisha Yeager was the one who introduced CPR to people within the Walls, and this story takes place when he hasn't shared that knowledge yet with everyone, so no one really does CPR or Basic Life Support yet.
> 
> * * *
> 
> Thank you for reading! The song quoted and linked is Fix You by Coldplay. The link points to Spotify.


	6. Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> People say goodbye is the saddest part, but what comes after is no less painful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please replace E/C with your eye color, H/L with your hair length, and H/C with your hair color. It won't make sense, but it'll make sense.
> 
> I added some things to earlier chapters, edited the titles, and added some medical definitions in the notes. It has been a while since I updated, so you might want to read the past chapters to refresh your memory and spot the added information. Or, at least I hope you'd want to.

Now that the excitement had died down, those who had crowded around to see what was happening were long gone, while those who had approached Y/N to give their condolences quickly went back to their dinners when the child showed no signs of hearing or acknowledging them.

In the flickering candlelight, it was easy to miss Y/N's figure, sitting on the floor between her parents' hospital cots, so small and unobtrusive that she almost blended into the shadows. In her hands, she held her mother's dangling, unresponsive hand while Alice slept on, blissfully unconscious of the events that had transpired in the past hour. Sobs wracked the small frame periodically, and, if one looked closely, the glint of tears pooling on the ground proved that the child was still crying, but beyond her stilted breaths, no cry escaped her lips.

Behind Y/N loomed Keith Shadis' stern and protective figure. Despite the mask that covered the lower half of his face, his scowl was evident enough to silently scare off those who thought of making the child move away from the spot she occupied. After his aborted gesture in comforting the child, he had realized that there was no one around who showed the slightest inclination to act as a guardian for the young girl. Her parents were quite obviously out of the question. Grisha, widely known to be her unofficial mentor, had been pulled from hospital duties to allow him to focus on the cure and was unavailable at the moment. No one else appeared to know Y/N and her family beyond meeting them in the hospital, and Keith knew of no one he could contact to help the child.

Despite his lack of experience with children, the soldier felt an obligation to the strange little girl. She, of all people, had taken the time to distract him from his worries about Carla's condition, and he was not about to forget it. Besides, the look in her eyes was one that he had seen countless times before, though never in one so young.

The blank, thousand-yard stare was familiar in the ranks of the Survey Corps after all. Especially after an expedition.

Hospital staff would be arriving soon to take Marcus' body to the crematorium since those who died of the plague were slated for immediate cremation, so this was the closest Y/N would get to a vigil for her father. And so Keith decided to stand beside her as a warning: those who would take this small consolation away would have to get through him first.

The pitiful figure in front of him was a far cry from the vibrant kid he had first seen in Carla's pub. He had not been paying attention to the small redhead, but when Carla approached her newest employee, he watched with amazement as Carla cared for the girl. He marveled at how her beautiful face—usually set in stern lines from having to deal with the pub crowd—softened as she pulled Y/N aside to guide her. Carla had tucked this child's unruly hair behind her ears and brushed soot off her face with hands that had never before been so gentle, and Keith felt himself falling even more in love with the sassy woman. _Would that be what Carla would be like as a mother_, his mind asked as he watched, and the question remained there ever since.

If Carla had been here, she would not let this young, promising child break; and when Carla woke up, she would not welcome the news that Keith watched Y/N fall apart without doing anything.

When he had realized that, Keith felt his resolve strengthen. He would take care of Y/N as much as he could. He was no replacement father, that was for sure, and he had no idea how to deal with sadness, but he would be damned before he let someone with such bright potential dim permanently because of this.

Under his careful watch, the young girl's breathing slowly became less harsh and more even. The sobs that made her shoulders shake lessened and eventually stopped. It was then that the aides arrived to take Marcus' body. They looked at Y/N and Keith with trepidation and only approached when Keith relaxed his stance and nodded for them to continue. As they neared, Y/N stood up and carefully tucked her mother's hand under her blanket, touch lingering as if reluctant to part with her. Nevertheless, she followed as the aides exited with Marcus' body in a stretcher, and Keith brought up the rear of their small procession.

Keith was ready to take the lead with any cremation arrangements and papers that needed to be signed, aware that children were not equipped to deal with those, but he was proven wrong by the strange little girl once more as she took a pen and dealt with the arrangements as capably as any adult. More capably, even. She spoke to the aides flatly, but professionally, and everything was ironed out in no time.

Once they arrived in the crematorium proper and Y/N momentarily moved away to look over the pertinent documents, the aides could only raise their eyebrows behind her and marvel at how maturely the child was taking everything. A far cry from her earlier demeanor.

"Don't praise her for that," Keith chastised quietly. "She's not completely there."

* * *

If someone asked Y/N what she had been doing or what had happened around her in the time it took to finally transfer Marcus' body to the crematorium, she would have described a muted, grey blur, much like slogging through the mud at the bottom of dark and murky water. In that bottomless pool, nothing was important except the body of her father. It was the only thing that remained crystal clear in her vision. She stayed when he was left alone, and she followed when he was moved away. These were her last few moments with him. She needed to be with him.

Objectively, she knew that she had walked, but her feet had moved by themselves—slow and sluggish as if she had to fight against the current just to take a step forward. Sounds that filtered through were vague and garbled—as foreign as it was on her first day in this land, when the language had been unknown to her. She knew she had replied to questions, but the words had come out automatically, barely registering as a ripple on the surface of the lake she was submerged in. Her arm ached as it pushed against the sludge to direct a pen across paper. Even light from the crematorium's furnace appeared dim as it filtered through the silt.

When the time came for Marcus' body to be taken into the crematorium proper, a place she couldn't go, she finally resurfaced from the bubble that had shielded her from the world. It had been difficult—it felt so natural to stay in that state forever—she knew she owed her second father that much. This was their goodbye.

With no small amount of self-hatred, she pressed her thumb into the bandaged wound on her left palm. She had accidentally gotten it in Grisha's laboratory, and while she detested it at first, she was now thankful she had it because the pain cut through her haze that enveloped her and allowed her to think clearly for once.

It had never crossed Y/N's mind that her father's fate was to end up cremated with no one by his side, without a priest to give him a proper funeral or his loved ones to mourn his passing. Alice was still unconscious, fighting the same infection that had taken her husband in the prime of his life without her knowledge. If—no, _when_—she woke up, it would be to a world without the love of her life. Their friends and neighbors had not yet been informed of Marcus' demise, and they would only find out after his cremation, too late to pay their last respects to a man who had been well-respected and even admired by most.

Ignoring all the guidelines and protocol that she had brought from her world to this, she took his hand—rough, callused, and familiar from years of laboring on their farm—and squeezed the cold fingers between hers one last time. Y/N wanted to cry all the tears that should have been shed at Marcus' funeral, but her tear ducts refused to produce the river that should have formed with the passing of one such as he.

"Thank you," she murmured roughly. She swallowed against the lump in her throat. It was all the words she wanted to say, straining against her larynx as if they could reach Marcus' unhearing ears. It was the scream she had been holding back, rage against injustice and guilt at her inaction, competing to be voiced. Y/N swallowed again, burying the sounds she wanted to make deeper and deeper so that they would not come out when she gave voice to what little she felt ready to say.

"I'm sorry." Did these words even matter? Marcus would not hear them.

"I should have done more." Saying it now would not change anything.

Y/N had not been as close to Marcus as she had been to her original father, but they had known each other for such a pathetically short time that they hadn't even used well. Y/N never got to ask him about his own childhood, never learned how he fell in love with Alice and their love story, never asked about who he was beyond his identity as her father. She had never asked him all the questions she had reserved for a better time, which would now never come. He had never taught her all the things he had promised to when she became older. They had never experienced life as equals, never interacted as adults. They would never have that chance.

"I love you, Dad."

It was not enough. It would never be enough. It would have to be enough.

* * *

Outside the crematorium proper, she was spared from seeing his body catch fire, but through the windows, she still saw the flames that blazed as they consumed Marcus' body along with the infection that had taken him. No research mentioned whether or not viruses could feel pain—and why would there be, when they are simply proteins that caused diseases—but at that moment, Y/N fervently wished that the fucking paramyxoviridae remnants in her father's body could feel themselves burning.

"My condolences for your loss, Y/N," a familiar presence said behind her, distracting her from her thoughts. Upon turning, the first thing she noticed was a Scout uniform, followed by an unexpected face. It was Keith Shadis, the grumpy soldier who turned so gentle when he cared for Carla. Even though he usually looked standoffish and was prone to shouting, at the moment, his face was grave and words soft.

She wondered how he had come to stand behind her when she had felt no one approach since she arrived in the crematorium, and suddenly realized that he had been with her all that time. Surprised at how he had taken the time to accompany her, even if she had not acknowledged his presence or expected anything from him, Y/N schooled her face into a friendlier configuration. Her eyes crinkled at the corners in a way that suggested her expression would've been a smile if the situation had been different.

"Thank you, Shadis-san," she replied, and together they stood outside the crematorium as the smoke finally filtered out of its chimney. Y/N watched as it rose beyond her reach in a rapidly lightening sky. As dawn arrived, the smoke floated above the trees that surrounded the hospital and past the outer walls of Shiganshina. "Papa's heading beyond the walls now. Beyond everything we know. He's going where I can't follow."

The sun was already well above the horizon, sending rays from above the eastern wall to light the top of the western side, by the time the urn containing Marcus' ashes and a bag with what was left of his belongings was released to Y/N. To Keith, the child in front of him already looked overburdened with the material things she needed to carry, let alone the weight of grief and loss that surely haunted her, but she would not let him help her.

"Are you sure you don't want me to hold those? They'd give you another bag if you asked. Or I can ask for it," he offered for what felt like the hundredth time. While he had vowed to help the girl, he would not be able to if she kept on declining his assistance.

"I will be alright, Shadis-san," Y/N demurred, more fixated with arranging the contents of her bag to spread the weight evenly than on Keith's obvious worry. "I would appreciate some time alone."

Keith shifted his weight to one side and frowned at Y/N as he grumbled, speaking mostly to himself. "Yeah! Sure! I've heard that before. 'Some time alone,' they say, and they never come back." He kicked a rock away. "Or they come back in a body bag. You're all too young for this, too soft. In all my years, I-"

His rant was cut short by a small hand on his arm. He turned to see Y/N giving him her full attention and cringed when he realized that she had heard what he was saying.

"I'm not one of your soldiers, Shadis-san," she said evenly. "And I'm...trying not to make a habit of lying. I will be alright."

She was a tiny red-haired girl, so short that she had to stretch to just reach his arm, but somehow Keith felt like he was being chastised. He narrowed his eyes at her, wondering just how she learned that _I'm disappointed in you_ tone that he could almost swear was taught to Military Police as part of their information gathering repertoire. It was a strange skill for a child to have, but then again, the child in question was strange herself.

At least she looked more human than she had the night before. Her eyes held his with a defiant spark in them, unlike the blank stare that had frozen her features.

"Alright then," he nodded, satisfied for the moment. "Go ahead."

The corner of Y/N's mouth twitched into something that was not quite a smirk. "With all due respect, I did not need your permission," she said before bowing deeper than Keith had expected her to. "Thank you, Shadis-san, and goodbye."

Keith raised a hand in farewell as he watched the little girl leave. If she was not back in a few days, he was going to ask Grisha where she lived and check on her himself, but he was going to let her have her way for now. Anyway, Y/N was right. She wasn't one of his soldiers...yet.

* * *

Instead of going to the cramped bedroom she shared with the relatives of patients admitted in Shiganshina Hospital, Y/N's steps led her in another direction—_home_. Home in this life was a farmstead on the inner edge of Shiganshina's walls, near enough to count as part of the town inside, but far enough to allow for their fields to spread out. Home was the back porch that held their matching rocking chairs and a collection of young lemon trees that had been her birthday gift. Home was a huge bed, shared among three people, and a newly built washtub to cater to a fastidious child's persistent requests. Home... Home was waiting.

Before they had left for the hospital—back when Y/N still thought that she would be making the journey back home in beside both parents instead of cradling her father's urn in her arms—they had just finished seeding the winter wheat. Marcus had overseen the process, before joining Alice, Y/N, and the farmhands at the back-breaking work. The strenuous labor had made Y/N appreciate the convenience of motorized and automated machinery, and how easy it had been to simply buy what she needed in the grocery.

Staring at the fields that bordered her on each side, she could imagine just what they had looked like then. Alice, a focused whirlwind of activity, would be further along, making quick work of her part, while Marcus lagged behind, teaching Y/N how to judge just how deep and how close she should place the seeds. Alice would often look back and mock-complained that she'd have to teach Y/N how to do it efficiently instead of perfectly. They had all laughed.

And now, the winter wheat they planted had poked their tiny blades of green from the ground, and her parents weren't with her.

In the time they had spent inside Shiganshina's walls, the leaves had started to turn red and orange, and the grass lining the dirt road home was golden in the sunlight. This was their favorite season. As Y/N walked closer to home, she felt Alice and Marcus' absence so keenly it was almost painful to breathe.

Inside, the house was no better. It was dark and sullen, as if it had been angry at being abandoned for so long. A light sheet of dust covered all surfaces, and Y/N had to open the windows and sweep out the floor just so she could feel like she could breathe again.

With care, she transferred Marcus' urn to the dresser in her parents' room and found a vase of dried flowers to place beside it. Their windows had been closed since they left, and the air still smelled like them—or at least, the scented packets Alice liked to place among their clothes—lavender for Alice and sandalwood for Marcus. Carefully, she put on a coat from her father's trunk, hugging it around herself and imagining that it was still his arms around her, putting her to sleep whenever she woke up from a nightmare.

"Welcome home, Dad."

She waited, but there was no reply. She hadn't expected one, but somehow, saying those familiar words in that familiar space made her think that maybe, just maybe, Marcus' voice would echo through their home again, declaring that he was home the way he always did after a long day in the field.

Tears prickled at her eyes again. Briefly, she longed for the empty, vague, insensate underwater world she had occupied after her father's death. Maybe feeling nothing would be better than this pain, she thought, though she discarded it almost immediately. This pain, she had learned in her past life, was grief, and it was the consequence of love.

And she would feel every single second of it, every single jagged cut and crushing blow, because she loved her father that much and would not shy away from it.

That was when a sudden realization made her sit up ramrod straight.

In all her life, she had known two indisputable facts: One, her death was going to be through a public execution. Two, Paradis was an important name. And now, she added number 3 to that list: Marcus and Alice were not in the crowd that had gathered to watch her execution.

Most of her nightmare's details still eluded her, yet for a split-second, it felt like she was within its grip once more. A voice—older, sadder, and more tired, but still somehow recognizable as her own—echoed her head. The cut on her palm started to ache, and she pressed into it, hoping the pain would give her clarity once more, but the voice crowded out everything else, repeating over and over again like a mantra.

_"I scanned the crowd, looking for familiar faces, even for ones that I knew couldn't be there. In the end, it was partly a relief that I couldn't find some of the people I was looking for._

_"I'm glad Mom and Dad aren't here to see me go like this."_

* * *

At dawn, so early that haze still covered the ground outside, Y/N woke up in her parents' bed with eyes crusted by the remains of her tears and a headache that belied the fact that she had slept through almost a whole day. She was hungry and uncomfortable in the cold, having fallen asleep in the midst of her waking nightmare, and the covers had ended up streaked with dirt because she had not taken off her boots before climbing into bed.

For a while, she stretched out in bed and daydreamed of her parents' angry voices scolding her if they had walked in on her then. It was almost convincing enough to make her believe that everything was fine, but she knew better than to delude herself with daydreams.

"You know you're becoming weird if you fantasize about your parents getting angry at you," she spoke aloud as she stripped the bed and got ready to do some laundry. It felt like ages since she had spoken, and her throat felt scratchy as if the words contain within had tried to dig themselves out all night. "And there's something definitely wrong with your head if you're talking to yourself out loud. And anthropomorphizing words."

There were no mirrors in Y/N's home, for they were a luxury that their family did not bother with. Instead, it was using the laundry water that Y/N scrutinized her reflection, much like the poorly written heroines of the pocketbooks she had devoured in her past life on Earth. Early in her career, she had been deployed in the wake of a war and found little else to serve as entertainment or distraction when she managed to find free time. She had ended up liking those books as a form of sheer escapism into worlds with dashing leads and fair maidens instead of the harsh realities of life. In those books, there had always been a scene where the well-endowed female lead would take the time to gaze upon her visage in a mirror so that the author could tell the readers what attractive features they should imagine as they were led through her improbable adventures and romances.

But in her story, even as she was trying to do the very same thing, Y/N highly doubted that she stood as the lead character and considered her aberrant presence in her current world more of a mistake. Through the soapy water of her laundry, she peered at her reflection, which was less of the otherworldly beauty that heroines usually had, and more of a flesh-colored blob with blue dots for eyes, surrounded by ripples of red for hair. Very Anne of Green Gables, she often thought.

In her original world, she had had E/C eyes and H/L H/C hair, but she had not managed to bring that into this world. In a way, that was to be expected...but for some unknown reason, her name had followed her here. It had been the first word she had recognized amidst the jumble of syllables that this world's language had sounded like at first. It was strange, and she did not know the reason behind her parents' choice, but she also did not bother questioning it.

Though her family name was unknown to her—she had never needed to use it before, and her parents had never bothered to mention it—and her features borrowed Marcus' blue eyes and Alice's red hair, she had been gifted with her original name. It was a gift more precious than anything. It was a piece of her home that had accompanied her to this world, and it gave her hope that maybe, just maybe, there would be other pieces for her to find in the future.

* * *

The sun was completely up by the time Y/N headed out once more. In the distance, small figures had begun wending their way through the fields and trees. Their farm, along with the others around it, was coming to life slowly. Marcus had trained his people well, and they knew how to do their jobs even without his oversight.

_Oh_, Y/N gasped. They'll never work under him again anymore.

She turned away immediately, putting off having to share that fact with them and unsure if that counted as denial or some form of procrastination for an unwanted but necessary task. Instead, she made her way to Shiganshina's inner gate as fast as she could.

There was an unexpected crowd forming around the gate, and a line of carts and wagons snaked along the main road. Y/N managed to weave through the taller adults, avoiding being knocked around as much as she could, until she reached the gate. There, she saw that the Garrison had set up a barricade along with members of the Military Police. Y/N had never seen them before. The policemen were obviously new to Shiganshina, and their faces showed open derision as they checked both the traffic going in and out of Shiganshina.

Thankfully, she spied Hannes, one of the few members of the Garrison she was comfortable approaching, near the barricade. She jumped and waved her hand furiously at him, and he smiled when he saw the small figure desperately trying to catch his attention.

"You alright there, Little Doctor?" he asked as he lifted part of the barricade and ushered her inside. "The checkpoint caught you by surprise too?"

"Yeah, this wasn't here when I headed out last night," she said quizzically, avoiding the eyes of those who were shouting at the soldiers for letting a little girl through when they had been waiting for hours.

Hannes blocked her from their view and shouted at them. "Hey, no need to harass children! She's a citizen of Shiganshina, so unlike you, she's allowed to pass!" With a conspiratorial whisper, he added for Y/N's benefit, "This was a directive from the higher-ups, coming from inside Sina itself. Lockdown, they called it. To control the plague and stop it from spreading. You're supposed to line up too, but eh, it's not a big deal. I know where you're going."

"Thank you, Hannes-san," she replied, though she was lost in thought. That...actually showed remarkable forethought. Y/N was surprised that someone had thought of ordering a lockdown. She had suggested it to Grisha when they had first sat down to talk about containment efforts, but he had apologized since it was beyond his power to even suggest such a thing.

Once they arrived inside the walls, Hannes gave her a sad smile. "My condolences, Y/N. I was there when Marcus..." He trailed off, unsure of what to say. "Yeah. Well. I'm sorry for your loss."

His words were by no means eloquent, but Y/N knew they were sincere. "As am I," she replied. "Will I see you in the hospital once your shift is over?"

"Of course, I'll be there! I'll see you then, Little Doctor." He was one of the few who used that nickname with fondness instead of as an insult, so Y/N did not mind it. He walked away before jogging backward to tell Y/N, "Coming from the hospital, you'll have a harder time going out the gates than going back in. I hope you're planning on staying inside for a while!"

With that, he left the thoughtful girl to her devices. On her way to the hospital, she overheard more and more people talking about the sickness going around, calling it a plague. Once Y/N donned a mask, the difference in how other people treated her was apparent. Now, they eyed her askance and shied away. The closer she got to the hospital, the less people could be seen, and some of the businesses nearby had notices posted saying they were temporarily closed. It was almost familiar, and she hated that it had to happen here of all places, but it was also a necessary step to contain the spread while Grisha worked on his impossible cure.

As her thoughts turned to Grisha, Y/N found her steps turning towards his clinic. Visiting hours in the intensive care ward were not yet open, and while she was there to see Alice, she still didn't want to visit the place where she failed to save her father. She had some time to spare.

* * *

Since Grisha had been pulled from hospital work, he had spent his waking hours (and honestly, his sleeping hours too) in his office, which had now morphed into a madman's laboratory. He had lost count how many days had passed since he had seen the sun outside the laboratory, and a constant headache throbbed behind his strained eyes.

For a moment, the tired doctor closed his eyes and massaged his temples in consternation. He knew that what he was doing was unhealthy, but was not the time for rest. So many people were counting on him to find this cure, and one look around the room would make it evident to anyone that there was still so much to do.

In his single-minded quest for a cure (and what Y/N insisted was a vaccine, a preventative measure instead of a treatment, though she was too pessimistic about it), he had forgone all semblance of orderliness and cleanliness. Splatters of unknown materials decorated the walls and even parts of the ceiling—proof of experiments that were technically too volatile to do indoors but were done anyway. His papers looked like heaps of scrap on tables but were arranged with a complicated system he had no time to explain at the moment. Near him, liquid within glass beakers bubbled merrily as the burners underneath were monitored to keep their flame at a constant level. Books upon books laid in haphazard stacks on the floor, but he knew precisely where everything he needed was.

When he finally opened his eyes, his gaze fell on a stack of journals he had placed in a hard to reach place, safer than most of his references and notes, and he smiled wryly. These came from Y/N and her experience from her original world, and they had been immensely helpful with the policies he had proposed for the quarantined area, as well as containment and developing the cure. Y/N had written down and illustrated everything she remembered about the sickness from her world and the virus that caused it. She had also admitted that her knowledge and experience was less than helpful in the actual production of medicine, so she deferred to Grisha for the practical application part.

While Grisha inwardly felt like using her notes was cheating since the things written inside were typically things that he would have to confirm via experimentation or further research, time would not permit any further delays. Instead, he placed his trust in Y/N's knowledge, which she had demonstrated ably multiple times before, and accepted what was written as the truth. This allowed him to skip certain steps and make unexplainable leaps in his progress. This allowed him to save time—to save Carla and the other patients as soon as possible.

The door opened almost imperceptibly, and the only thing that clued Grisha to its movement was the stream of fresh air that whisked away the stuffiness of his over-heated room. When was the last time he opened the windows to let the candle smoke out? It was a good thing he hadn't suffocated in that room yet. He glanced up at the door and smiled as he caught Y/N's eye. The omnipresent mask hid half of her face as usual, but he fancied he could read her expressions well enough by now to know that her visit was a positive thing. "It's been a while. How have you been?"

Her reply took a while, so Grisha busied himself with decanting the more promising of the reagents he had come up with last night. The search for the cure was not going as quickly as he would have liked, but it was...going.

"Things have been busy outside," Y/N said tentatively, peeking through her vantage point from the door and not setting foot inside the room. Grisha appreciated that. If the door opened any wider, wind from outside might scatter the papers that took over multiple desks. He really must arrange those.

"Hmm... Really? What's been happening?" he said absentmindedly, wandering to the one free surface available. It was the table he had been using for his naps. There was a free folder in those drawers somewhere. Again, Y/N's reply was uncharacteristically slow to come. He had been used to her quick and witty rejoinders, so something must be wrong for her. He raised his head from his task to catch her eye, worry furrowing his brow, but she was looking grimly at a stack of hospital notes on the side table near the door. "Wanna read those? Notes from the wards, if you're interested. Someone—a junior doctor, I think—had dropped them off earlier, but I haven't found the time to read them yet.

As he watched, Y/N shook her head and turned to him with a concerned look. "No need, but thank you. I thought I would come here and update you with news of the outside world, but it seems like you're busy." Grisha opened his mouth to protest, but she cut him off with a glare. "This cure. This is what's important. Is there any way I can help you right now?"

"I'm alright here," he grinned sheepishly, aware that he looked very much like a lunatic. His brown hair stood up in a spiky mess, and his mustache was threatening to grow into the world's worst beard. "You've already helped me so much, with your notes and all. Even if you say no cure in your world existed in your world." He puttered on. "You've been so calm and rational about the whole thing. It's pretty amazing, actually."

"This... isn't the worst I've seen," Y/N volunteered hesitantly. "This is an epidemic, but there was a time that my world went through a pandemic, and it's... Well, it's beyond the words. The number of morbidities and mortalities. The deaths and what came afterward." She shook her head again. "That's a story for another time. Are you sure there's nothing I can do to help you?"

"Well, if you really want to help me, I'd really die for some coffee right now."

As he spoke, Y/N's face seemed more shadowed than before. The light in this room was terribly inadequate. "Coffee, hm?" she said. "You know what's weird? In my world, I think it was coffee that first became popular, then tea arrived. I might be wrong, though. I didn't pay much attention in history class."

Grisha hummed in reply, his attention more on the samples he was organizing instead of their conversation. What Y/N said struck him as strange—_history class, as in it was not as recent a discovery as it had been in Marley, coffee before tea sounded plausible, wasn't that the case for us too, oh that's going to overflow_—but he was quickly distracted from this train of thought.

Y/N watched him with a fond smile on her face. "Coffee. I got it. I'll try, but it looks like you're asking for a miracle."

"Let me know if you can arrange one for me." He turned down the burner underneath the bubbling reagent and grinned at her before quickly shifting his attention to another bottle.

"Sure thing. I won't take up any more of your time, Grisha." Y/N raised a hand in goodbye and moved to exit. Before she closed the door completely, Grisha heard her whisper quietly. "Stay safe. Stay healthy."

He smiled softly. That was the plan. That, and finding this elusive cure as fast as possible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **death** /deTH/ _noun._ **1** the action or fact of dying or being killed; the end of the life of a person or organism. **2** irreversible cessation of circulatory and respiratory functions, or irreversible cessation of all functions of the entire brain, including the brain stem.
> 
> * * *
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! If you think that this chapter was slow and the sadness as all-encompassing, good. That's how it felt to lose someone.
> 
> This chapter had been written months ago but was temporarily shelved when I had to start reviewing for a very important examination. Now that I have time for Displaced again, the COVID-19 pandemic is in full swing. I had toyed with the idea of changing the whole story because what's currently happening in our world right now was too close to what I wrote. It felt like bringing the pain home.
> 
> But what's the point of writing if you don't rip your heart out a little?


End file.
